Frankly My Dear
by SensationTwisted
Summary: AU. Takes place during regency. Draco Malfoy is a sexy Marquess and Hermione is still the bookworm. The war against Voldemort is still raging on and Harry Potter is still the Boy-Who-Lived. Ron is a nice guy *gasp*. Oh and a marriage law thing.
1. Prologue: A Major Case of Brooding

**Title: **Frankly My Dear  
**Author: **sensestwisted l Twisted  
**Rating: **PG-13 (for now but eventually will be NC-17 or something of that sort)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine and it is 100% Ms. Rowling's. (As much as I wish it were to be otherwise). No profit is being made in borrowing the material.  
**Paring: **Draco/Hermione, Blaise/Hermione, Harry/Pansy, Balise/Ginny etc.  
**Synopsis: **AU. Takes place during regency. Draco Malfoy is a sexy Marquess and Hermione is still the bookwoorm. The war against Voldemort is still raging on and Harry Potter is still the Boy-Who-Lived. Ron is a nice guy *gasp*. Oh and a marriage law thing.  
**Genre: **Romance, fluff, marriage law, mystrey  
**Wordcount: **~466  
**  
****A/N: **I have a plot in my mind. Actually I know my endgames and all that jazz. It is a slow building romance (if it can be called that). They will not declare their love for each other in Chapter 3 and then have babies in Chapter 5. Just a little FYI :D because I am experimenting.

**Prologue: A Major Case of Brooding**

**T**_he dying embers in the hearth put up a last futile fight. The struggle lasted little more than five minutes. _

Marquess Draco Socrpius Malfoy watched the dying embers dispassionately from his position behind the imposing desk. The dying flame cast his face into a sinister shadow. The shadow highlighted his high cheekbones in a rather austere manner. Maybe it seemed rather austere because the blond hadn't moved from his chair for a while.  
_  
Fuck,_ he thought._ Brooding rather sucks. _

He smiled at the thought. He was aware that the smile did not reach what one of his mistresses had referred to as a molten silver. Even in his depressed mood he had to snort at that description. _Women!_ He was aware that his gray eyes were rather unusual but combined with his pale blond hair it was not much to remark on.

This was not to imply that Lord Malfoy was a humble man. Oh, no! Draco Malfoy was one good looking fellow and he knew it. How could he not? He was a Malfoy for heaven's sake! The Malfoys may not be the bravest, smartest, or the most honorable wizards but by Merlin, they were good looking."Damn you Malfoys! What the fuck was it about you fuckers that made women swoon," Zabini had once confided to Draco. Of course, one had to take into account that the comment had followed after a witch Zabini had fancied had swooned after seeing Draco.

Yet..here he sat in his study and brooded. _Brooding for god's sake!_ What the fuck was wrong with him? Malfoy did not brood. He sauntered, taunted, stalked (in a rather sexy term of course), wenched, drank but he definitely did not brood. It was almost nauseating. Brooding was for wankers like Potter who thought that if he did not try to save the world he would pay for it. Or his mentor Snape or that man (?) Lupin, his cousin had in what he could surmise a moment of weakness deemed to be a suitable partner.

_Hmm I am getting a pattern here, _he smirked. _The idiots who brooded were not good looking_. _Not to say that they were horrifyingly ugly but when compared to me they were lacking in the looks department._

But try as he might to shake off his depressed mood he could not. It was like a stink that followed that no-good Weasel freak. There was nothing he could do to help it. It was like a constant stomach ache.

He could still see her the fuck would have thought that face would haunt him? His reason for this _brooding._ The eyes widening with hurt and shock. Her walking away. His words echoing and bouncing against the walls of the cathedral.

"Frankly my dear..."


	2. Chapter 1: Devil's Own Tongue

**Chapter 1: The Devil's Own Tongue**

**_I_**_t had always shocked yet amused (he was a sick bastard) Lord Malfoy how much people assumed to know about him personally or his personal life._

One of the more amusing rumors had been the one where Malfoy had apparently been found with his britches down to his ankles with a certain lady-if she could be called that- and the said certain lady's knickers on him. Supposedly, the said knickers were red and particular flattering to his personal family jewels. He had always wondered how the gossip mongers thought he could have put on the knickers with his pants still around his ankles and didn't hesistate to mention that to those who mentioned this to him.

Yet those who had the honor, or were misfortunate enough if Zabini had a say about it, to claim to know knew that was not the nature of Marquess Draco Malfoy. He would certainly never be caught with a lady or her knickers on him unless he wished otherwise.

The press and the public with their fascination or revulsion of the Malfoy family published a great many tales about the Pureblood heir apparent. If his name alone were not enough to garner the publicity, his good looks alone kept many women stammering and fluttering their pretty eye lashes.

Yet how many countless rumors floated about him none of them ever said anything about one his personality trait that drove those who loved him bonkers. Draco Malfoy was a very fastidious young man.

Fastidious not just in the sense that he was picky, which he was, but that he hated leaving anything undone. He was meticulous to the point of obsession. Oh, it was not apparent to anyone not close to him. Those not close to him either assumed he was just another spoilt lord intent on going through his inheritence or that he was a stupid prat. Yet the meticulous personality of his that made him a perfect future leader for the purebloods.

Malfoy hated leaving anything undone. His Slytherine nature would not allow him to leave a job half done. Nott had once said that if Malfoy had been a muggle (do not ask what happened to the poor bloke when he said this) then the war with the damned French would have been over quicker than a wizard could say 'portkey.' Well- actually maybe it might not be as Malfoy was particularly fond of his French brandy.

And because of that precise nature of his sod of a friend, Count Balise Zabini- shirtless and shoeless- was now relegated to nothing more than an actor.

Bloody good-looking of an actor, Zabini thought. "After all- I am Balise Fucking Zabini,"he muttered.

Malfoy smirked. "How kind of you to inform me of a title I had not been aware which you held. I will be sure to remember that. Is that from your mother's side or your father?"

Feeling as if there were little Americans brats in his brain pounding an anvil, Zabini gritted his teeth. It certanly did not help that Malfoy's mess was screaming. Fuck if only it was a different kind of screaming that stroked a man's ego rather than shrivel it.

Right now, his good friend was delivering the final touches to his plan. Draco Malfoy always had a fucking masterplan. The boy would not go piss somewhere without figuring out how it would be the most advantageous to him and uneconomic for someone else.

The bastard, not in a literal term Zabini was ninty percent sure, besides having his plans for everything- yes, everything - also had this list. Oh how did he know about thee lists- well he had been told by the sod more than he cared to know.

Zabini could list the top three things, as of last month, which Malfoy regarded as infallible truths.

#1) Being a Malfoy was the best thing that could happen to someone.  
#2) Stupidity was something to be hated even more than foolhardy courage.  
#3) All the women in his life, well those not related to Malfoy, wanted to be the next Duchess Malfoy, no matter how much they said to the contrary.

Therefore, thanks to a particularly scheming bint of number three Zabini got to display his acting skills. If one could call being shirtless and paraded as the other man skills. The quiver in his best mate's voice wrenched him from a fantasy of the porcelain neck.

"I trusted you," Malfoy finished in a shockingly pitiful voice.

If Zabini had not been in on the plan, he would actually believe that the sod's feelings were hurt. It took all that he had to stop from snorting.

"Drakie, it's not what it looks like," Lady Astoria Greengrass interjected.

Zabini did not know he stopped his snort. The picture of Malfoy's godfather in a pink dress probably did not help as he went into a choking fit.

The couple stopped arguing and looked at him with concern. Well the delectable Lady Greengrass had concern in her eyes while the Marquess merely looked amused and had the gall to arch his eyebrows.

Zabini rolled his eyes. "I am fine. No worries at all. Just dust in the room."

Malfoy said coolly, "If we are done with your theatrics, Zabini? I would like to get back to the discussion in hand?"

Greengrass blanched. Her cheeks normally flushed prettily with color now had no color. Zabini almost pitied the girl, almost. If she wanted the infamous emerald ring and the title of Duchess Malfoy then she should have been Slytherine enough to understand Malfoy's game.

However, the only one who could understand Malfoys' underhandness were the Black women. Nevertheless, considering that the Duchess Malfoy had once been a Black, Zabini did not imagine he would see a women seeing through Malfoy's nefarious schemes down.

Hell Zabini prided himself to be a sneaky Slytherine but he knew that even having grown up with the prat he still could not fully understand how Malfoy thought.

As if understanding that the title of the future Duchess Malfoy had slipped through her pretty fingers she turned to Malfy with pretty tears in her eyes.

Little belle of the ball...it takes more than tears to move a Malfoy, Zabini shook his head, especially if he planned for you downfall.

"I think it would be best for everyone involved if the incident remained in this room," Draco smirked.

Greatfully, Lady Greengrass blinked back her tears. Fuck! She was damn pretty. If only she were scheming enough for D.

Zabini flashed her a reassuring smile. "Thanks Malfoy," he managed, without rolling his eyes.

"Don't mention it. Now get dressed and let us leave," Malfoy ordered.

Pretending as if he always put his shirt on with a lady and her ex-beau in presence (sometimes it happened) Zabini strived for a nonchalant look. Dammit, he was not as good with his cravat. Ah bugger it would have to do.

It was a proof of Draco's underhandedness that the lady who had just been dumped by the Prince of Purebloods did not even question why she got caught. It certainly did not occur to her that the whole thing had been planned by her precious Drakie to escape unscathed and remain single.

Zabini wondered fleetingly if there was anyone out there who could handle Malfoy's devious nature.


	3. Chapter 2: How Lucky Can You Get?

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is not mine and it is 100% Ms. Rowling's. (As much as I wish it were to be otherwise). No profit is being made in borrowing the material.

**A/N: **I want to thank all those who added the story to their favorites or alerts. I really appreciate. Thanks to those who took time to review.

Well couple of notes I wanted to make:

Draco is Marquis of Loftus. His father is the Duke of Duke of Marlborough. Malfoy would be their last name. One's title is dependent on one's property. Okay?

* * *

**Chapter 2: How Lucky Can You Get?**

_**T**__o say that Draco was pleased with how the whole plan had been executed perfectly would be assuming that he had worried it wouldn't._

Draco had been fully confident that that plan would go accordingly. Having hatched more elaborate than getting rid of an ambitious little lady he had been sure the plan would go without a hitch.

Hell, this is what he did for fun. Make elaborate schemes. Being a Malfoy meant many things and one of them was the ability to scheme and be cunning. He had been a tad worried when Zabini looked he was about to choke on his laughter but no worries about that. As of ten minutes ago he was free of a certain scheming young lady and he was happy. Happier than he remembered being in a while.

Zabini and he had left the room undiscovered by anyone that they been with Lady Greengrass. Promising to find Pansy for his mother, Draco had come up here. But even the missing Pansy could not make him loose this sense of euphoria.

But whatever happiness he felt mere seconds ago fled when he stepped outside the door.

The source of his sudden irritation was looking down. That nest she called her hair currently hid her face from him but he could tell without doubt that the woman walking up the stairs towards him was Hermione Granger.

Wanting to growl but knowing that if he gave his presence away his well-laid plan of freedom would be gone in a flash he hid behind a column.

What the hell was the Gryffindor hellcat doing about unescorted?

The answer to his question arrived running up the stairs.

Theodore Nott, Viscount North ran into his view. Quickly Draco cast a Disillusionment Charm Charm. This he had to see.

"Dammit Granger! Wait up!" Nott panted.

Draco watched the mudblood stiffen at the sound of her betrothed's voice.

_Trouble in paradise, _he smirked.

She sighed heavily "What do you want, Theo?"

Theo grabbed her arms. "Did you just insult Pansy?" he demanded.

Draco frowned. He did not like hearing that his friend had been bothered by this petite mudblood.

Always sassy, Granger replied, "If by insult you mean I questioned her intelligence then I suppose I did so."

Draco arched his pale eyebrows as he heard his pal growl. "Granger, my friends are to be respected. Do you understand?"

Hermione cut, "But-"

"No buts. Listen you mudblood. I have lost more friends than I could imagine when I asked to marry you and I am not going to lose more because of your inability to remain in polite company."

Granger's face had paled. She seemed to brace herself to slap the boy or give him a talk down he would not forget but before she could do anything Nott stormed away.

Then the most surprising thing happened. The mudblood simply slid down the wall. Tears fell from her eyes.

Irritated he stood as she sat there and cried. _Bloody hell! Women and their emotions. _Although he had always thought her to be too much of a bluestocking to ever cry.

He could tell that try as she might she could not completely stifle some of her sobs. He wondered why she did not try calling attention with her tears but thought it was probably the Gryffindor in her. They were so blood proud. Besides, Nott was too much of a Slytherin to fall for the typical female ploy to get what they wanted.

One could accuse Draco of many things foul but not being a gentleman was not one of them. His mother would have his hide if he ever treated a lady with disrespect. He might be the Prince of Purebloods but his mother was a Black. Not only was she a Black, that woman was a bloody menace - that could cut you with one arch of her eyebrows. That was if you were close to her.

But he did not consider the mudblood a bloody lady. How dare Hermione Granger even fancy herself a lady worthy of a pureblood? Not just any pureblood but one who used to be his best mate and now was not.

He felt a tide of anger rush him remembering the harsh words exchanged between him and Nott. He never told Zabini but when Nott had left and chosen that bloody, filthy mudblood he had felt lost. How could a boy with whom he had played since they were both in nappies just choose to walk away from him? _The _Slytherin Prince.

Sneering, he walked towards the whore. She was too busy crying to hear his footsteps.

He nudged her with his boots. "Fancy seeing you here, mudblood?"

* * *

Startled and not to mention a little bit scared, Hermione Granger looked up to see who had found her in this embarrassing situation. She wiped her tears.

That voice-

_Oh God! No!_

She would recognize that voice anywhere. No, it was not the voice she recognized as much as the sneer and contempt behind it. Many a days and nights she had thought about that voice.

_Just my luck, _Hermione thought. _How lucky can one get? Humiliated by one's fiancé at a ball then trapped in a dark passageway with Devil's own spawn. _

Taking a deep breath and praying for courage she looked up to see a sneer inimitable on Marquis Loftus's face as he looked down at her. But Hermione Granger reminded herself that she had not been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing by the Sorting Hat. _But you were also supposed to be in Ravenclaw, _said a nasty little voice in her head.

"What do you want Malfoy?" she said in her haughtiest voice. Yet it was hard being haughty when her voice still sounded like she was crying and her voice quivered.

"Your head on a platter," he smirked.

Knowing that she could not ask him to do the gentlemanly thing and help her up she struggled to stand up. Facing him she felt better than when she had to look up at him. Even though she was considerably shorter than him, being on eye level with him made her more prepared to exchange repartees with the Marquis.

She rolled her eyes. "Now that is a picture most magnificent, my lord. Tell me- with imagery like that do you fancy yourself the next Byron or something of the sorts?"

He frowned. "Do not talk to me in that tone, mudblood. You are not even fit to polish my shoes."

She shook her head. "Oh, my lord! The illustrious Pureblood Prince is getting repetitive in his insults. Maybe you should ask your good friend Byron to give you tips on how to insult properly." She turned away to leave. What the hell was she doing here, exchanging insults with the prat? If someone saw her she would be ruined. She did not even want to imagine how Nott would react.

But she felt herself tugged back towards him.

Startled she noticed that he had clutched her arms. She tried tugging her arms away but to no avail. _He was not the milksop I thought him_, she marvelled at his strength.

"We are not finished till I say we are finished," he clenched between his teeth.

Impressed Hermione watched as only Harry could do as well a job gritting his teeth in anger. Of course poor Harry also had more reasons to be angry than this fop. But she knew she had to be careful here. One did not just insult a future duke beyond his tenuous control. Treading on unsteady grounds she muttered "Please let go of my hand, my lord." She pulled unsuccessfully hoping to free her arms. But of course that _dandy _would not let go off her hands. He just sat there with a big grin on his face. It was quite unsettling really. What he hoped to gain by holding her hands she had no idea. She wondered if she should point out that he might get some mudblood germ from touching her.

Before she could utter any word the bastard snorted. "What are you doing here anyhow? Were you not aware that this gathering was for the elite? Not for filth like you?"

_Always so eloquent his words. With words like those it was no wonder he turned ladies heads. _Barely able to stop herself from rolling her eyes she smiled.

"Well Theodore said-"

"Lord North to you, mudblood," he interjected.

She gritted her teeth. "He has given me permission to call him by his given names, my lord."

"It is unseemly. He must have been out of his mind."

Hermione wondered if being a lady meant it stopped her from hexing the bastard to next week. How she wished to wipe that smirk from his face. Her hands itched to slap him like she had in her third year but she did not have Harry or Ron here with her. She could not just go around slapping Marquises no matter how much they deserved it.

"As that maybe but please let go my hands, lord." She tried wheedling. Wheedling was not bad. Not really. If only she could forget just whom she was wheedling. "If someone catches us there might be consequences."

He snorted. "Since you have already trapped my best mate into marrying you I don't see how you hope to do the same." 

_Trapped_. That word set her teeth on edge. What did the bastard know? Did he understand how it was for her? Looking at him just standing there with his pureblood face with no worry in the world and he was passing judgement on to others. Hermione had never been a violent person but how she wished could just hit him. Hit him until she could feel nothing.

"Do not presume to talk about what you have no understanding of, my lord," she said quietly.

He looked at her with surprise. She was amused to see a bit of wariness in there, also. He let go of her arm. Never one to pass an opportunity Hermione chose her avenue of escape.

She could feel herself tearing up as she walked away. Also, painfully aware he was watching her as she walked away.


End file.
